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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854746">happier</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneakyfox55/pseuds/Sneakyfox55'>Sneakyfox55</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Never Forget [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adorable Sans (Undertale), Also for a friend, Banter, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Established friendships, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Flustered Sans (Undertale), Humor, I have no regrets, LITERALLY, Light Angst, Lovesickness, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Reader is also very much a dork, Sans is a Mess (Undertale), Sans is a dork, Sans is an airhead, Unrequited Love, Worried Papyrus (Undertale), because all i give them is pain and they deserve happiness for once lmAO--, except not really, it starts off angsty but then gets better i swear, lovesick Sans, particularly from this series :)), this fic is literally just Sans being smitten, this is because i needed more cute Sans in my life :), you're welcome :)))</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:00:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854746</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneakyfox55/pseuds/Sneakyfox55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For some reason, you still wanted to be friends with him. You still wanted to help him--he still deserved to be happy, you'd said.</p><p>But, </p><p><em>you</em> made him happy. </p><p>And...</p><p>He kind of really wanted to make you happy, too.</p><p>. . .</p><p>For some reason.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Papyrus &amp; Sans (Undertale), Sans (Undertale)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Never Forget [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>happier</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyseatea/gifts">saltyseatea</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(fdgfjsfdjkljlkj i finally got some inspiration to finish this yaya, ;w;</p><p>but anyway i still owe people fluff and among them specifically saltyseatea because they're amazing, so, (and also they kinda helped with my inspiration but anyway--))</p><p>in which Sans's dorkiness truly shows--</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sans... <em>Usually</em> didn’t dream.</p><p> </p><p>That is... More often than not he was likely to get a <em>nightmare</em>, rather than any alternative. Almost everything in a monster’s being came from emotion and intent, after all. Dreams came from intent—a desire for something, usually. But emotions were stronger than that. Whether they be positive <em>or</em> negative, it didn’t much matter the outcome of a dream when pure <em>feeling</em> was in control. And more often than not, a nightmare was just that; a feeling, albeit negative, manifesting itself as something tangible.</p><p> </p><p>Naturally however, for Sans, his actual <em>emotions</em>—or rather outcomes he believed to be at all possible—tended to overrule what he <em>wanted</em>. And even more naturally, those emotions weren’t always positive, good ones—hence why he’d rather call his dreams <em>nightmares</em> than anything else.</p><p> </p><p>...It was funny, in a not-so-funny way. Even in sleep he couldn’t quite escape reality, as much as he tried.</p><p> </p><p>He tried to forget it but it always kept coming back to him; his fears disguising themselves as so-called “dreams,” <em>pretending </em>to be a good, true thing and making him believe they were good and true at first.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes he couldn’t even tell the difference.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, he thought maybe he wanted it. He deserved it, for what he did; rather, what he <em>didn’t</em> do. Whatever fantastical, <em>terrible</em> outcome his mind made up was brought on by emotions <em>and</em> desires. They were one in the same, now, because why wouldn’t they be?</p><p> </p><p>Why <em>shouldn’t</em> he want it?</p><p> </p><p>Why shouldn’t he want to punish himself—to <em>torture</em> himself like that, his soul making him relive it over and over again, and making him see things that hadn’t even <em>happened</em> but probably <em>would</em>, because that was what he <em>needed</em>.</p><p> </p><p>So there was no difference, between his nightmares and dreams.</p><p> </p><p>He <em>wanted</em> to feel horrible.</p><p> </p><p>He <em>needed</em> to feel horrible.</p><p> </p><p>He still did, even now.</p><p> </p><p>...But...</p><p> </p><p>This time, he...</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>He might have wanted something else.</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>And he couldn’t? Figure out what it was, exactly??</p><p> </p><p>It... Wasn’t even a <em>bad</em> thing this time—at least, it didn’t feel like it, it wasn’t a nightmare or anything but—</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>But that was just <em>it</em>. What he had this time wasn’t a nightmare. It wasn’t <em>normal</em>, it was...</p><p> </p><p>...It...</p><p> </p><p>Felt like a dream. An <em>actual</em> one.</p><p> </p><p>One he wanted that actually...</p><p> </p><p>Didn’t hurt.</p><p> </p><p>And for the <em>life</em> of him, Sans could not figure out what it meant.</p><p> </p><p>What exactly was it <em>about</em>? Where had it <em>come</em> from? Why had he felt so happy (as happy as one can in a scene constructed only in their imagination)? Why did he remember there being <em>flowers </em>present, of all things?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why could he remember <strong>you</strong> being present?!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>If his soul supposedly, suddenly desired something <em>happy</em>? Why would he want you there??</p><p> </p><p>Why did the idea of it make his soul <em>flutter</em>???</p><p> </p><p>And most importantly why did <em>thinking</em> of you suddenly make his room seem brighter? It was <em>raining</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What was happening.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Well; he didn’t quite get the time to figure it out because a second later, Papyrus burst into his bedroom without warning, looking all sorts of riled up.</p><p> </p><p><span class="papyrus">“SANS!!”</span> His voice came out as a bark, though the tension in him just <em>slightly</em> eased when he spotted his brother still lying on the bed. <span class="papyrus">“IT’S ALMOST PAST ONE O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON! UNLESS YOU’RE SICK I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOUR.......”</span></p><p> </p><p>A long beat of silence came as the other skeleton trailed off, seeming to scrutinize something.</p><p> </p><p><span class="papyrus">“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”</span> he then asked abruptly, causing Sans to merely blink at him in confusion.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“...yeah? i think. why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“YOU... DON’T LOOK WELL.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>He squinted at him, scowl softening into more of a frown.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“<em>ARE</em> YOU SICK? DID SOMETHING...?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Again, Papyrus trailed off, muttering a similar question unsurely. Before Sans could ask him to repeat it he went on, <span class="papyrus">“DO YOU—SHOULD I CALL ALPHYS? OR—OR (Y/N), SHE MIGHT—?”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“no!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>He winced at the way his voice cracked.</p><p> </p><p><span class="comicsans">“don’t... don’t call anyone Pap, ‘m fine. see?”</span> He wiggled his fingers at his brother to “prove it.”</p><p> </p><p>Of course, Papyrus simply glared at him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“IT’S NOT FUNNY, SANS. DON’T JOKE ABOUT SOMETHING LIKE THIS, I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“Papyrus.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Sans blinked again, staring at the irritation and impatience on his brother’s face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“...i’m fine. seriously, Pap. it’s not anything serious, i promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Not that he knew <em>what</em> was wrong, or <em>what</em> Papyrus could possibly have seen in his expression.</p><p> </p><p>Still... Papyrus relaxed. Just a bit.</p><p> </p><p>And he must have seen something in Sans’s expression that assured him too, for his own grin reappeared, like nothing had happened.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“RIGHT! WELL!! THAT’S GOOD! I’LL... WAIT DOWNSTAIRS, THEN. ...FOR YOU, I MEAN.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>He cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“AHEM. ANYHOW! MAKE SURE TO COME DOWN IN A FEW MINUTES—I’LL COME BACK AND DRAG YOU IF YOU HAVEN’T!!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Then, he quickly backed out into the hallway and shut the door behind him once more.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>Well, then.</p><p> </p><p>Sans wasn’t entirely sure if he lied to him then or not.</p><p> </p><p><em>Was</em> it serious?</p><p> </p><p>Was it even anything?</p><p> </p><p>Was something wrong with <em>Papyrus</em> and <em>not</em> him?</p><p> </p><p>Was this happening in <em>another</em> weird vague dream of his that made zero sense?</p><p> </p><p>They were all good questions—and ones that Sans definitely had no answers to.</p><p> </p><p>In any case... He seemed to have at least placated his brother <em>somewhat</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It hardly gave him reason to anything that was going on right now but whatever.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>Did he somehow look sick? Was that what Papyrus saw?</p><p> </p><p>Was his soul somehow sick and projecting its nonsensical weird feelings onto what little physicality he had and now he was sick too?</p><p> </p><p>There was no end to these questions, apparently.</p><p> </p><p>But maybe he could <em>try</em> to find some answers.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>So <em>that</em> was what Papyrus was so worried about.</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>I mean.</p><p> </p><p>He definitely looked sick, in a sense. Feverish, if he had to use a specific word.</p><p> </p><p>...Weird.</p><p> </p><p>Sans leaned forward just a bit, inspecting himself in the mirror (and trying not to get too disgusted) only to roll back into his usual position, utterly confused.</p><p> </p><p>His eye-lights were definitely hazier than usual. Kind of smaller, too.</p><p> </p><p>His grin was... Weird. If that even made sense. Loose? Not very... <em>Steady</em>?</p><p> </p><p>Oh, and he was flushed.</p><p> </p><p>As in his entire skull was a soft shade of cyan at the moment. And it wouldn’t go away—probably because he felt almost feverishly warm.</p><p> </p><p>...Okay, so it was official:</p><p> </p><p>He was probably sick.</p><p> </p><p>It <em>would</em> explain the weird dream, likely brought on by his mind being in a feverish state. It’d explain why he felt so weird in general, and like his soul both simultaneously wanted to snap in half <em>and</em> float right out of his chest to make a descent towards the sky. It also would explain why every once in a while his thoughts reverted back to you, thinking back to the last time he talked to you and how much of a train wreck it was; wondering what you were doing, if you were awake yet (well of course you would be it was past one), if you would want to talk again today.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, it made perfect sense.</p><p> </p><p>He was just sick.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>With what, he didn’t quite choose to address because he had a nagging feeling the answer was pretty easy to spot—and he just was an idiot.</strike>
</p><p> </p><p>Well. Time to confirm it to Papyrus, he supposed.</p><p> </p><p>After snatching up his cellphone, Sans shortcutted into the kitchen a moment later, already shuffling towards his usual chair as his brother cheerfully greeted him.</p><p> </p><p><span class="comicsans">“hey,”</span> he said abruptly, whilst sliding into said chair, <span class="comicsans">“so. i’m probably sick, i guess.”</span></p><p> </p><p>Papyrus... Didn’t react at first. If you can call a side-eye a non-reaction.</p><p> </p><p><span class="papyrus">“AND YOU DIDN’T BELIEVE ME,”</span> he said scornfully after a pause, before he fully turned to cross his arms disapprovingly at his brother.</p><p> </p><p>Sans snorted nonchalantly, <span class="comicsans">“’s not that i didn’t <em>believe</em> you, bro. ...well, i <em>kinda</em> didn’t but it’s not like i <em>feel</em> sick. it’s... weird.”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“...WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘WEIRD?’”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“i dunno, it’s just weird?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“OKAY BUT—WEIRD DOESN’T... IT DOESN’T EXPLAIN ANYTHING!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="comicsans">“well <em>yeah</em> because there <em>isn’t</em> a way to explain it,”</span> shot back Sans, only inciting an exasperated sigh out of the other skeleton as he firmly set down a plate of steaming spaghetti in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“BUT IT’S...! IT’S NOT LIKE MONSTERS GET SICK LIKE HUMANS, SANS!! IT’S ALWAYS PURELY—UGH!!! NEVERMIND, JUST! JUST EAT, I’M SURE YOU’LL FEEL BETTER AFTERWARDS.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“but i’m not feeling any worse than i <em>normally</em> do. that’s what i’m trying to tell you, Paps.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“I! FINE, DO YOU WANT ME TO CALL DR. ALPHYS THEN?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“<em>no</em>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="papyrus">“OKAY SO WHAT <em>DO</em> YOU WANT ME TO DO??”</span> Papyrus finally blurted out, throwing his hands helplessly in the air, looking about as done as Sans felt right about then. <span class="papyrus">“IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO TALK TO ME, OR HER OR EVEN (Y/N), APPARENTLY—”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“w-wait, i—didn’t?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“...WHAT?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“...i... didn’t say i wouldn’t... talk to (Y/N), i mean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Papyrus stared at him.</p><p> </p><p><span class="papyrus">“WHAT?”</span> he said again. <span class="papyrus">“THAT’S... THAT HAS ALMOST ZERO RELEVANCY TO THIS SITUATION, WHAT ARE YOU GOING ON ABOUT.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span class="comicsans">“it’s... relevant.”</span> Sans shrank a bit, suddenly feeling... Exposed, almost? <span class="comicsans">“y-you—said i said i didn’t want to talk to her but that’s not—... what i said?”</span></p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“...uhhh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>A beat later, Papyrus simply smiled, almost sickly sweet. (Heh.)</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“YOU KNOW WHAT? IF THAT’S THE CASE MAYBE I <em>SHOULD</em> CALL HER BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY YOU SEEM SET ON THE IDEA.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>...Wait what.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“wait wait, what, no—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="papyrus">“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘NO?”</span> his younger brother asked, blinking innocently as he held up his own phone. <span class="papyrus">“YOU <em>SAID</em> YOU’RE NOT OPPOSED TO TALKING TO HER, DID YOU NOT?”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“yeah but—i-i didn’t actually—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“WELL, IF YOU’RE <em>SICK</em>, I’M SURE TALKING TO HER WILL MAKE YOU FEEL MUCH BETTER!! WON’T IT?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Further and further down, Sans shrank into his jacket, despairingly close to pulling the hood up over his skull and attempting to hide himself from the clutches of reality. <span class="comicsans">“...m-maybe, i-i don’t...”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“THEN IT’S SETTLED! I SHALL DIAL HER NUMBER FOR YOU!!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“y-you really don’t—...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Ah, but it was too late. Papyrus already had his mind set on it too, already punching in the numbers.</p><p> </p><p>Sans saw this and trailed off, knowing there was no way to stop it now.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>But why.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t realized it until now but whatever weird behavior this was from him seemed to be linked to you—but <em>why</em>?</p><p> </p><p>Why, why was did this feel so <em>nerve-wracking</em>—why had he said any of what he did, what was wrong with him?</p><p> </p><p>Why did he want to talk to you, and forget any of this ever happened at the same time?</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>Why <em>did</em> he want you to make him feel better...?</strike>
</p><p> </p><p>Wouldn’t...</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>Wouldn’t this... Be bothering you, anyhow?</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“HELLO, HUMAN (Y/N)!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Oh gods, this was it.</p><p> </p><p>Why was his soul racing.</p><p> </p><p>Before he could figure out as much, Papyrus shoved his cellphone into Sans’s hands, announcing, <span class="papyrus">“IT’S FOR YOU!”</span></p><p> </p><p>Sans fumbled for it haphazardly, not even able to manage more than a half-glare in his direction before shakily holding the <strike>cursed</strike> device up to his nonexistent ear and blurting out whatever first came to him:</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“he-h-hi, <em>heeey</em>!! uhh, good? morning!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>......</p><p>
  
</p><p>If there was ever a better reason for you to hang up on him, Sans couldn’t think of it. He’d hang up on <em>himself</em> for that.</p><p> </p><p>And you probably just did because why <em>wouldn’t</em> you, what was wrong with him he—</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Pfft—hey? You good, boneboy?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><span class="comicsans">“no—i-i mean, yeah,”</span> he laughed <strike>nervously</strike>, <span class="comicsans">“i’m... good. h-how ‘bout you?”</span></p><p> </p><p><em>“Um, great! Thanks!”  </em>You paused. <em>“...But I, uh. I can’t really... Talk for long, actually. Sorry.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>...Oh.</p><p> </p><p><span class="comicsans">“oh,”</span> he said as much aloud, nonchalant despite the almost painful disappointment that clawed at him. <span class="comicsans">“yeah, no, that’s... that’s fine. is... everything alright, or...?”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Yeah! It’s fine.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>That was... Too quick of a response.</strike>
</p><p> </p><p>Sans’s grin almost faltered.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“y-you sure? if—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><em>“No, it’s—” </em>You realized you interrupted him, immediately backtracking, <em>“Sorry. I mean, I... I-it’s really nothing, haha. Just, y’know, work and all... Don’t worry about it!”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Yeah, because saying something like <em>that</em> was definitely going to work on <em>Sans</em>: an <em>expert</em> at pretending everything was <em>completely</em> fine, 100%, 24/7.</p><p> </p><p>And you knew that. You knew <em>him</em>, by this point—almost a bit too well. <strike>Almost more than he knew himself, sometimes.</strike></p><p> </p><p>So why...</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>Wait.</p><p> </p><p>When...</p><p> </p><p>When had anyone ever asked you if <em>you</em> were okay?</p><p> </p><p>When had <em>you</em> ever had someone to turn to when you were feeling down, or—</p><p> </p><p>Why hadn’t <em>he</em>?</p><p> </p><p>Why hadn’t he done anything for you?</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“...Sans? You, uh, still there?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“y-yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>He...</p><p> </p><p>Shouldn’t ask you about it. Not now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“i... i’ll let you go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><em>“Oh,”</em> you responded, a tad confused. <em>“Um. Okay?”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“...c... if you want you can... c-call me if you need anything?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>Geez, that was...</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>Well.</p><p> </p><p>It was too late to take it back anyway, dumb as it was.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>And it didn’t feel like much, but...</strike>
</p><p> </p><p><em>“...O-okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll...”</em> He heard you sigh through the phone. <em>“Thanks.”</em></p><p> </p><p>And then you were gone.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“WELL, THAT SEEMED TO GO WELL!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Sans jumped.</p><p> </p><p>Ah yes, Papyrus was still in the room. And he heard all of that.</p><p> </p><p>Joy.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“uhhhhh. i guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Sans turned his gaze fully to him, then blinked.</p><p> </p><p><span class="comicsans">“what?”</span> he prompted, warily, feeling uneased by just the slightest hint of a smirk on his brother’s face.</p><p> </p><p><span class="papyrus">“NOTHING!”</span> Papyrus chirped. <span class="papyrus">“I’VE JUST FIGURED IT OUT, THAT'S ALL.”</span></p><p> </p><p>Sans raised a brow at him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“figured what out?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU, OF COURSE!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“...okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Sans looked at him expectantly.</p><p>
  
</p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“OH MY GODS. DON’T TELL ME.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“what? tell you <em>what</em>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="papyrus">“YOU MEAN YOU <em>STILL</em> DON’T—<em>UGH!!!</em>”</span> With that he spun around, causing Sans to sit up straighter in his seat.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span class="comicsans">“wait, wha—where are you going?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Papyrus didn’t look back as he stomped towards the front door, simply shouting an indignant, <span class="papyrus">“OUT!!”</span></p><p> </p><p>He... Did Realize it was raining, right?</p><p>
  
</p><p><span class="comicsans">“why??"</span> Sans chose to address instead. <span class="comicsans">"i thought you were going to tell me what you think’s wrong with m—”</span></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span class="papyrus">“<em>OH MY GODS YOU’RE INSUFFERABLE!!!”</em></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>With that, he slammed the door shut behind him, off to who knew where. (Probably just to stand out on the porch and furiously contemplate the situation.)</p><p> </p><p>It was clear he was annoyed by <em>something</em>, but Sans couldn’t even begin to comprehend what, to be honest—he’d sort of learned that it was best not to question his brother, really.</p><p> </p><p>...Still. He wondered what that was about.</p><p> </p><p>He shrugged it off at the time, and his mind drifted over again to you occasionally the rest of the day. <strike>And of course, Papyrus eventually came back in under the guise he'd merely forgotten his phone with Sans, only somewhat soaked to the bone.</strike></p><p> </p><p>When he went to bed that night, it... Hadn’t really changed. For some reason.</p><p> </p><p>He still thought about you; if you were okay, given the events earlier. You hadn’t talked much, and...</p><p> </p><p>In a way, it scared him.</p><p> </p><p>Part of it was the kind of fear he’d felt often with you—of worrying you might hate him, or if something he said bothered you. It nagged at him particularly now, making him wonder if he should have told you anything at all.</p><p> </p><p>...But, at the same time, it...</p><p> </p><p>Felt <em>different</em> than that.</p><p> </p><p>If you’d wanted to distance yourself from him you would have done it—you would have been colder, or rejected the idea of talking to him at <em>all</em>; and certainly you wouldn’t have showed as much concern for him as you still had.</p><p> </p><p>So no, that couldn’t be it. <strike>Probably.</strike></p><p> </p><p>Instead, it seemed as though you were bothered by something else.</p><p> </p><p>Like you were...</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>Sad.</p><p> </p><p>And...</p><p> </p><p>He’d know that feeling well.</p><p> </p><p>He’d know that better than anyone.</p><p> </p><p>And, imagining you going through even a <em>portion</em> of that—as well keeping it all in, masking it from everyone else, <em>pretending</em>...</p><p> </p><p>The idea of that hurt. More than he thought it would. Almost...</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>Almost more than anything else.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>More than what <em>he</em> had gone through.</strike>
</p><p> </p><p>It was something similar, he realized, as to back when he was still trying to keep Papyrus safe. A sort of fear that at any moment, if he so much as turned his back for a second, his brother would be taken away. A fear that the next time he saw him, he’d only be a pile of dust, meant to be blown away by the winter wind.</p><p> </p><p>It was a fear that even when Papyrus <em>said</em> he was fine, he didn’t mean it—he kept it hidden, simply for (ironically enough) Sans’s sake. He pretended to be happy because if he told him, it’d just make Sans unhappy, when he should have been happy. And Sans wasn’t “worth” that sort of unhappiness.</p><p> </p><p>But that kind of fear stemmed from something <em>deeper</em>. It stemmed from the fact Papyrus meant more to him than anything else in the world, and to lose him would crumble <em>his</em> entire world. It stemmed from compassion, from <em>love</em>.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>And, a similar fear was starting to build in his soul for <em>you</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Sans...</p><p> </p><p>Didn’t want to lose you.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to know you were hurting—he didn’t want to have you with him in one instant, and then have you gone the next, blown away by the wind.</p><p> </p><p>Because you...</p><p> </p><p>.  .  .</p><p> </p><p>You meant a lot to him.</p><p> </p><p>A whole Hell of a lot.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>He knew what Papyrus was going on about, now, and hadn’t truly acknowledged it until the idea of you being in pain pained <em>him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>For some inexplicable reason, he’d let himself <em>fall</em> for you—and now he cared.</p><p> </p><p>He found that he cared about if you would love him back somehow.</p><p> </p><p>He found that he cared about the fact you might not—that one day, you might leave to be with someone else, or leave him in general.</p><p> </p><p>But, most of all...</p><p> </p><p>He found that he cared about your happiness.</p><p> </p><p>He cared about <em>you</em>.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>He loved you.</p><p> </p><p>Because of you, things seemed just a bit better. For once, he was...</p><p> </p><p><em>Happy</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Or... Happ<em>ier</em>, at least.</p><p> </p><p>...And...</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to make you happy, too, if he could. You deserved that, and so much more.</p><p> </p><p>If he had the capacity to give you such, he’d do it in a <em>heartbeat</em>. (Even if he didn’t have one.)</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>He... Knew he probably couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>He knew it was probably a pipedream, this fantasy of his. In the end you probably <em>would</em> leave him behind, and love someone else.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t see <em>how</em>—how you could ever love him the same way he does you, but...</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>Could he... <em>Try</em>, at least?</p><p> </p><p>Would that... Be enough?</p><p> </p><p>Even if he knew he couldn’t be?</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>He hoped so.</p><p> </p><p>Heh... <em>Gods</em>, did he hope so.</p><p> </p><p>And,</p><p> </p><p>and maybe—maybe by some sort of miracle, then...</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it could work. Maybe the Universe didn’t <em>entirely</em> hate him, and would throw him a bone for once.</p><p> </p><p>That...</p><p> </p><p>If he could get <em>that</em>, then he’d be happy.</p><p> </p><p>...Or happier, at least.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>But he hoped you would be, too.</p><p> </p><p>That was what truly mattered to him.</p><p> </p><p>And one day,</p><p> </p><p>he hoped he would be able to tell you so.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey on a quick side note my mental health is doing somersaults right now so if i suddenly go dark with updates don't worry lol, i'll probably just be trying to recuperate</p></blockquote></div></div>
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